by Slaton Smith
Terrified, Jennifer had tears running down her face, but she still nodded. She stumbled as she ran back down the walk towards the cab.
Sandy disappeared back into the shadows.
“Let’s get out of here. His sister is crazy!” Jennifer yelled at Ann and the cab driver at the same time.
Across the street, Bill and Bob looked at each other. They had seen the whole thing.
“She’s crazy,” Bob said.
“Shut up. She has this truck bugged for all I know.”
Sandy watched the cab pull away and made her way across the yard, hugging the tall hedges that separated Sean’s house from the neighbor. She raced across the street and leaped onto her porch in one jump. Entering the living room, she stood in front of her laptop with her hands on her hips.
“All this ass-kicking is exhausting,” she said aloud. She needed to relax. Bill and Bob had eyes on the house.
She walked back to the bathroom. It was not nearly as nice a Sean’s. One small window adjacent to the tub. Basic sink. Basic tub and toilet. She reached behind her back and took out the Glock and put it on the windowsill. She placed her phone next to it. She pulled her shirt over her head and looked in the mirror. A thin scar ran under her right breast, across her flat, muscular stomach and down to her waist. She ran her finger over it and looked at herself again in the mirror. She slid out of her shoes and jeans and looked at herself again. Plain bra. Plain white panties. Plain. Plain. Plain. Guys like plain? Guys like women like Jennifer? She looked out of the bathroom at the laptop and at Sean sleeping soundly next to his dog. Then she got in the shower.
Sandy emerged ten minutes later, toweled off and got dressed. She pulled on a pair of Adidas capri length tights, fresh socks, a jogging bra and a sweatshirt. She had to be ready when Sean emerged. She knew he was going to start working out as soon as he woke.
She reached for the radio.
“I have the next three hours. Both of you get some rest. We all need to be ready to go at 0500. His routine will not change state side. Don’t let the cop spot you.”
She snatched the laptop off the table and balanced it on the edge of the couch and sent a quick email to an anonymous account. The laptop produced a new address every day.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
RE: #2
No change. Still operationally ready.
She hit send, changed the screen back to the camera view and placed it on the table.
She grabbed a Greek yogurt and a one-liter bottle of water out of the fridge and sat in a chair that afforded her a view of the cameras and the front of the house.
She glanced at the rifle and opened the yogurt.
VI
It’s a Grande – Not a Medium
Shadyside – Saturday - Early Morning
Sean woke up around 8 A.M. Bailey had wormed her way under the covers of the bed, her nose just sticking out of the top of the comforter. Sean lay on his back for a moment and stared at the ceiling, but was quickly overcome with the need to do something - keep moving. He threw the covers off his side of the bed, clad only in his boxer shorts and dropped back down to the floor and started doing push-ups. Like the night before, he kept knocking them out without regard for the pain in his arms and the pain in his shoulders. Bailey hung her head over the edge of the bed. She let out a “huff.”
Sandy watched on her laptop from across the street. She alerted her team and got ready to move.
“I hear you girl. I’ll take you out in a minute.” Sean popped back up and looked in the mirror. He looked good, but something kept telling him “Go! Go!” He walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and rubbed the beard that was covering the sharp features of his face. He was working a nice five o’clock shadow. Not quite Sonny Crocket, but nice.
“You know, I should have named you Tubbs,” he said to Bailey.
Bailey watched from the bed. He came back out into the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer searching for a pair of lacrosse shorts. He found an old pair from a club team in Atlanta – Pete’s Wicked. He slipped his sandals on and went downstairs – sans shirt. He and Bailey would sprint to Starbucks after breakfast.
“Let’s go outside!” Bailey jumped off the bed and roared downstairs. Sean walked through the living room into the kitchen and opened the backdoor for Bailey. She ran off into the backyard. Sean looked in the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, cheese and OJ. He placed everything on the counter and took a frying pan down from the pot rack. In the cabinet adjacent to the stove, he reached for the PAM, treated the pan and returned the can to the cabinet. He turned on the gas, the Viking Range roared to life - he placed the pan over the burner and started cracking eggs. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Eight. That looked about right. Too lazy to beat them in a bowl, he did it in the pan. Bailey pounded on the door and he let her in. She took up a spot at his feet, knowing there was something in it for her.
“This is for you too girl,” Sean said looking at her. Bailey shifted her weight anxiously. Sean added a handful of shredded cheese to the mix and started folding the eggs. He did not notice Stacy enter the kitchen. Bailey did, but did not care. Stacy did not exist as far as the dog was concerned.
“Got enough eggs?” she said as she opened the fridge looking for bottled water. She looked him up and down. She was wearing last night’s clothes.
“Brian was right. You have been working out. You on something?” She asked, as she leaned on the counter. Sean kept folding the eggs.
“Good morning to you too, Stacy,” Sean said. “I prefer to think of it as hard work. I also would prefer it if you two would stop asking me if I am on something.” He turned towards her, opened the dishwasher and pulled two clean plates out. One for him and one for Bailey. He scraped the eggs onto two plates. Stacy looked at the eggs. He turned off the burner.
“Sorry, Sean I don’t have time to eat,” Stacy said with a fake smile. He retuned the fake smile as he put one of the plates on the floor.
“They aren’t for you,” he said, taking a bite of his eggs and smirking. Bailey continued to ignore her and consumed the eggs in an instant.
“I don’t care what Brian thinks of you. You’re still an asshole. I’m glad Michelle broke up with you.” She turned and walked out the kitchen door. Sean locked the door behind her.
“Bailey, I don’t think she likes us.”
Sean cleaned up the kitchen and went back upstairs. Brian was still asleep. He could hear him sawing logs from the hall. Sean entered his own room, put on a t-shirt and sweatshirt and leaned on the bed to put on socks and running shoes. Bailey lay on the rug, watching.
“Want to go for a walk?” Bailey jumped up and started bouncing. She charged downstairs towards her leash. Sean started for the stairs and was halfway down when he heard Brian in the hall.
“Where are you going? Where’s your friend?” he asked in a half sleepy, half hung-over voice.
“Downstairs.”
“You lucky dog. She is super hot. Stacy hated her!” Brian said, not knowing Jennifer was assaulted on the front porch and was getting the hell out of Pittsburgh at that very moment.
“Go back to bed. I am going running. I’ll be back in time for the game.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Sean thought
“Really? Take it easy. You’ll get to run plenty today,” Brian replied.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Sean bounded down the remaining stairs and grabbed Bailey’s leash. He stuffed $5 in his shorts and went out the front door. Brian’s Charger was parked midway up the drive. He loved having it parked there. “Keeps bad people away,” he thought.
“You ready to run?” he asked Bailey and they both took off full speed.
Across the street, Sandy already had her shoes laced up. Standing up quickly, she suddenly felt sick. She made it to the bathroom and threw up most of the last night’s meal. She flushed the toilet, swished some mouthwash and got going. She didn’t have time to
feel sorry for herself.
Leaning in the corner of Sandy’s living room was a red Cannondale mountain bike. She had given up trying to keep up with Sean on foot. The bike was better. The pack attached to the seat also was a great place to keep her gun. The iPhone attached to the handlebars nicely. She popped the bike up on its rear wheel and rolled it down the stairs. She opened the door to see Sean and the dog running up St. James. She was still wearing her tights and sweatshirt. She figured the redhead was dead after last night. She stayed blonde. She put on a pair of sunglasses and hopped on the bike.
Sean ran to the edge of Fifth Avenue and turned right. He sprinted down Fifth heading towards the University of Pittsburgh. He went flat out. Bailey was at a full sprint. His legs and lungs were burning. Behind him, Sandy worked on keeping up and not getting run over. He passed Central Catholic High School and kept going until he hit the Pittsburgh Athletic Club. He stopped and crossed the five or so lanes of Fifth and ran through the fields in front of the Cathedral of Learning. Bailey kept pace. Bill and Bob did not have as much luck. The one-way streets were giving them fits. Sandy was still with Sean, but having trouble.
Sean crossed the field and briefly ran up Forbes, turning left on Union. Nice Starbucks on Union, but he wanted to sit in the sun with Bailey at the Starbucks in Shadyside. He turned right back onto Fifth and ran the rest of the way up to South Aiken. He stopped at the intersection, and trotted across with Bailey. Even as tough as she was, Bailey was getting a little winded. A block behind, Sandy watched.
Bailey and Sean walked the rest of the way to Starbucks on Walnut. It had three nice tables and was right in the sun. None of the Shadyside shops were open yet. He stopped at the first table by the door and looped Bailey’s leash around the chair and entered the restaurant.
“Hey Sean!” the short, dark-haired barista shouted.
“Good morning Monica,” he said, walking to the counter. The Starbucks had the normal counter with the assorted mugs and glasses for sale. Starbucks was one of those brands that did everything right. Their merchandising was always well thought out. It was always true to the brand. They never tried anything that was not true. They sold you. They got the impulse buy, but it was never done in cheap way. Always cool. Always in the groove. Take the music for instance. The volume was never too high or too low. It set a mood. They had their own sizes of drinks – they branded sizes. A tall order, but they did it. Some people tried to undo the brand. Some people are too cool to say “grande”. They had to say “medium”. What they did not realize was that the power of the Starbucks brand made it “un-cool” to say medium. Sean always was amazed at people, mostly men that did this. Just get your coffee and sit down. In here it’s “grande”. Get over it.
There were two chairs in the Starbucks window that opened to Walnut Street. He could see Bailey sitting and watching him through the window.
“You been running?” she asked, smiling. Monica, a grad student at Pitt, always wore shirts that were too tight, and too low cut. She also wore too much eye make up.
“Yeah. A little,” Sean smiled. He had sweated through the sweatshirt.
She leaned towards him and in a low, sexy voice said, “What can I get you?”
“Hmmmm. How about a triple grande, three pump, white chocolate mocha. Plus, a venti ice water for my friend.”
“Wow, that’s new,” she laughed. He always got the same thing. “You know there’s like 2000 calories in this.”
“Not worried.”
She kept talking while she made the drink.
“I saw you at Doc’s last night,” she said.
“Why didn’t you say hello?”
“You were leaving. You looked really tired.”
“Never too tired for you,” Sean said, as he smiled at her.
“Please. I saw the women that showed up right after you left.”
“What women?”
“They were something else. Not from here - that’s for sure. One looked like an Italian model. They talked to Ippolito.”
“What? I’ll have to talk with him,” Sean said reaching for his coffee and Bailey’s water.
“Damn it! Damn it!” he thought to himself.
He exited as a blonde on a red bike skidded to a stop and leaned her bike against the window. Sean sat down, looking at her. Bailey did too. Bailey pressed herself against Sean’s leg. The hair on her back was up. Sean put the cup of water down for the dog, but Bailey ignored it. She was watching the woman.
“Nice bike,” Sean said. Sandy took the phone and saddle pack off the bike, said nothing and entered the Starbucks.
Sean looked at Bailey. “Do I stink or something?” Bailey just looked at him. He smelled fine to her. “She’s kind of hot,” Sean thought to himself. Bailey finally started drinking out of the cup. Finishing, she laid down under Sean’s legs that were up in the chair on the other side of the table. He leaned back in the chair. The sun was full on his face.
Sandy figured Sean was still clueless and decided to chance being this close. She walked up to the counter. “Grande black coffee.”
“Sure thing,” Monica said. Sandy paid, took her coffee and a copy of The New York Times and moved to the seat by the window. She was literally three feet from Sean. She looked at his long tan legs stretched out on the chair in front of him. The muscles in his legs were rippling. Running like a lunatic will do that to you. She went back to her paper.
Across the street, Sandy’s back up watched.
“I am getting sores on my ass,” Bill said to Bob.
“Just be patient. I can feel something is going to happen. She’s going to fuck up. Look at her. She’s lost it. He is going to make her. If you need motivation, go look at your bank account,” Bob said.
“True. Good point,” Bill replied.
“When she does fuck up, I am going to put a bullet in her pretty little head,” Bob said menacingly.
“Wow! That’s some hostility.”
“I am sick of her pushing us around!” Bob said, nodding in her direction.
“Fine with me. Just remember that you are not dealing with a girl scout. She could just as easily kill us.”
“Whatever,” Bob said with growing frustration in his voice.
“You had better get your head back on straight. Shit. She can read our minds for all I know. Let’s avoid a confrontation,” Bill said, ending the discussion.
Sandy pulled out the international section of the Times. She scanned the headlines. Middle East. Shootings. Bombings. She was sick of it.
Below the fold, in the bottom right corner, was a report out of Saudi Arabia. Apparently, there had been an accident at sea off the coast of France. A Prince had drowned while swimming near Cannes. She skimmed the article. She knew the truth.
She looked out the window at Sean. Just sitting there in the sun. His dog next to him. Oblivious. Happy, and as always, having a great time.
She took a sip of the coffee.
Sean looked down at Bailey and caught the blonde looking at him through the window. He smiled to himself. He looked at his coffee cup. Monica had drawn a little picture on his cup like she always did. How does Starbucks get such good people? He leaned over to check out Sandy’s bike.
Sandy saw him. She didn’t care. She had her gun.
Sandy took a second sip of the coffee and did something on impulse. Impulsive action was something rare for her. She was a person who thought things through. She always knew all the angles. What she did made Bob and Bill’s jaws drop. She got up from her seat and walked outside.
“Hi, can I sit down with you?” she asked Sean. Several things happened at once. Sean shot straight up in his chair. Bailey popped up and pressed herself to Sean’s side. A low rumble erupted from her throat.
“Quiet girl,” Sean whispered to Bailey.
“Sure!” Sean said motioning to the chair he had his feet in.
“Thanks. I saw you were looking at my bike. Do you ride?” Sandy placed her coffee and bike pack on the table. Sh
e left her hand on it. The gun was inside.
“Yeah, I used to ride a lot. I have a red Cannondale too, but nothing like your bike. This is the new Trigger Carbon isn’t it?” Sean said looking at the bike next to the table.
“It’s is. I love it.”
“My name is Sean by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
“I know who you are,” she said, taking his hand and releasing it. Sean paused. She had really disarmed him. He stared at her blankly. Bailey had not blinked since Sandy had come to the table.
“It’s on your cup,” she said, pointing at his cup. Monica had put his name on it.
“Oh. Right. The cup,” he smiled and ran his hand through his sweaty brown hair.